


Red Team Routine

by MargoTheGreat



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MargoTheGreat/pseuds/MargoTheGreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Grif and Simmons' personality switch in seasons 7 and what happens when they see each other again in season 8.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Team Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for sarcastic Simmons and an even more sarcastic Grif. Goes with the tumblr rvb-fics. Sorry the title isn't very good.

It was a normal night at the base. Red base may have been home to some fuckin’ weirdos who were eccentric, usually resulting in chaos. Grif admitted he contributed a fair amount to that, but they had their own familiar routines, the chaos was within those routines.

It was dinner time, Donut took his turn in the kitchen so it was spaghetti that night. Sarge sat at the head of the table, cleaning his shotgun and engaging Lopez in an odd, one-sided conversation, despite the fact that he sat on the opposite side of the table. On Sarge’s left and next to Lopez was Donut’s empty spot, he was still in the kitchen. Sarge’s right and next to Grif was the spot reserved for Simmons who was getting all the silverware, helping fix plates and drinks.

Look at him. What an asshole. Grif watched him as he danced around the kitchen, making sure not to get burned by hot noodles. Donut could have taken care of it but Simmons always insisted on keeping to the stupid chore wheel. Simmons brought over more drinks, setting one down at each spot except Grifs.

“Simmons, where’s mine?”

“Get your own, fatass. You won’t follow the chore wheel. All you’ve been doing is sitting there.” Simmons shrugged, “I just figured you’d have time to get it yourself, since you’re obviously not busy.” Grif was certain the corner of his mouth had started to tug upward.

“Sarge isn’t doing anything either.”

Sarge defended himself, “Right, but I’m not a lazy dirtbag.”

Of course Simmons defended him too, “Weapon maintenance is important, Grif. Our machinery needs to be well oiled.”

Donut must have heard the word ‘oiled’ because he apparently took that as his cue and interrupted by bringing out the noodles and sauce in big bowls so that everyone could serve themselves as they pleased and started saying something about big meatballs melting in your mouth. Grif ignored that and refused to let it go when he saw the beer next to Simmons’ plate.

“You really couldn’t grab one for me while you got your own?”

“When was the last time you did something for me?”

“I didn’t call you a nerd for using your stupid chore wheel just now.” By now everyone else resumed what they were doing before. They were used to this.

“What? How is that a favor?? You did call me a nerd just now by saying that, it was implied!” Simmons’ voice was getting higher and higher in pitch.

“Yeah, well at least nerd is a lot better than kissass.”

“It’s called being respectful of your superiors.”

“Maybe brown-noser is better. Hey Simmons, I don’t think you’ll be able to eat. Your head is just too far up Sarge’s ass. I don’t know if you’ll be able to get it out. You should donate your food to someone who’s more needy, like me.”

“The only thing you’re in need of is a shower.”

Grif stuck his tongue and middle finger out together and Simmons rolled his eyes but accepted that the small bickering session was over and set a beer down for Grif as he sat down. If Simmons noticed Grifs smile and, “Thanks, nerd.” he didn’t say anything, but it was more likely that he was just distracted by whatever Donut and Sarge were talking about.

While they were distracted Grif saw Lopez had already wandering off saying, “Seriamente? ¿Por qué estoy aún aquí sentado? Idiotas de mierda. Esto sucede cada noche, ¿por qué incluso establecer un lugar para mí? Ni siquiera comer.” [Seriously? Why am I even sitting here? Fucking idiots. This happens every night, why do you even set a place for me? I don’t even eat.]

Now they were mostly silently eating, (except for Donut who always talked at mealtime despite Sarge’s usual “Close your mouth Donut, nobody wants to see that.”) Grif had finished now and Sarge was cleaning up his own dish, probably off to build some weird robot related thing or cuddle with his shotgun.

Simmons was explaining something very technical to Donut, a mouthful of spaghetti wrapped around the fork he was absentmindedly holding out. Simmons wasn’t paying attention but he would in a second. Oh, this would make him so mad. Grif carefully took a bite, clearing the food from the fork. Donut saw what was happening, covering his mouth and snickering. Simmons noticed and turned to Grif.

Oh man, the look on his face was priceless, his eyes wide, freckles standing out on his face and his mouth hanging open. Grif committed the moment to memory as Simmons said his name in disbelief.

“Grif! What the fuck. If you wanted more you could have gotten yourself seconds, you lazy ass.”

“Eh, too much work. It was right there Simmons. You should have learned not to tempt me by now.”

“Tempt you? With my food, on my fork?” Simmons’ voice was surprisingly level. Donut took his chance while they were distracted to excuse himself for the night.

“Yeah, you know food is my weakness. I think you did it on purpose. That’s just cruel, Simmons.” Simmons rolled his eyes at the smirk on Grifs face.

“You ever think, perhaps, there’s more to life than eating?”

“You mean, like, sleeping?”

Simmons' frown deepened and he stood up to put his plate in the dishwasher, silently picking Grifs up as well.

“No, dumbass.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know!”

Grif could tell Simmons wanted to say something but didn’t, so he kept the lighthearted banter going. ‘Talking about things that actually matter’ time wasn’t till they got to the roof or were safe within the confines of their room. It would come out eventually. But for now…

“Oh, wow that’s really thought provoking Simmons. You could win a fucking Nobel Prize for philosophy with that one.”

Simmons started back toward the table. “Yeah, well not everybody has so much time to think about the universe and the meaning of life like you do. Some of us actually do our work.” He said, gesturing to the work he had in front of him on the table. It looked like an inventory report Sarge had asked for. Not that Grif actually gave a shit.

He folded his arms on the table in front of him and rested his head on them, looking up at Simmons, “Pondering the universe is work Simmons. Who else is going to do it? I have a responsibility.” Simmons scoffed at that and smirked,

“Since when do you give a shit about responsibility?” He looked down at Grif.

Grif looked back, maybe a little too long. But the corner of Simmons’ mouth was definitely slanted and he had one eyebrow raised in an expression that made Grif feel almost like they were sharing some sort of inside joke, and Grif wanted to commit this to memory too because Holy Shit, -he’s pretty- it was utterly ridiculous.

“Since now asshole.” Good, he was looking away, Grif almost lost it there.

Simmons was focusing on his work now, probably going above and beyond on that report like the kissass he was.

“Tch, yeah I’ll be sure to remember that the next time Sarge or I need you to do something. And I’ll remember again the time after that. And the time after that. And the ti-”

“Jesus Christ Simmons, I get it. But you’re sorely mistaken if you think I’m gonna be you or Sarge's little bitch.” 

Grif didn’t know how Simmons did it, but he would always multitask like this. Doing reports for Sarge while talking with Grif. He was even writing and talking at the same time.

“Why the fuck would I think that? We both know you’re not actually serious. Like I’d actually expect you to do something other than eat, sleep, smoke inside your goddamn helmet, and store snack cakes in the absolute worst places. Seriously, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, we’re gonna get bug infestations if you don’t stop.”

“Exactly. We have a delicate system here Simmons, I wouldn’t wanna upset the balance.”

“Oh yeah and what would that system be?”

“As long as you don’t tell me what to do, I don’t ignore you.”

Simmons voice dripped with sarcasm now, “I dunno, I think you’re just telling me what I want to hear.”

“I am! See buddy? I told you the system works.”

“At this rate I wouldn’t even be surprised if we’ve already had a bug infestation and you just convinced Donut to take care of it for you.”

“Oh, I do that all the time. You’d be surprised what Donut will do for imported hand cream.”

“Good ol’ Grif. At least there are some things I can count on.” Simmons cast a sideways glance at Grif, (who was now beaming a bit) realization suddenly coming across his face.

“How do you manage to get him imported hand cream though?”

“I don’t. I just hide half what he already has from each new shipment and pretend I’m giving him more.”

Simmons actually laughed then, “Who knew? You’ve actually got a brain in there somewhere.”

“Of course I do, Simmons. How the fuck do you think I went to Harvard? Using it is just too much work, so normally I can’t be bothered.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“What? You’re always the one calling me a lazy ass, this shouldn’t be a surprising revelation, Simmons.”

Simmons turned and looked at Grif incredulously, “No not that, you idiot. You went to Harvard???”

“Oh come on Simmons, is it really that hard to believe?”

“YES!” Simmons was now wildly flinging his arms in the air, “You never fucking do anything, Grif! All you do is sit around on your ass! You make fun of me for being a nerd all the time and you expect me to believe you went to Harvard?!”

“Lazy isn’t the same thing as stupid, Simmons. Why do you think I get bored so easily all the time?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’re fucking doing nothing all the time?! It’s not like you actually give a shit about anything anyway!”

Grif started to get actually upset with Simmons now, and he sat upright. They argued all the time, but never about stuff that actually mattered. Usually it was just banter about stupid shit like the pronunciation of words. Grif had thought Simmons could see through the facade he put up at least a little bit, but apparently not.

“Who the fuck do you think raised my sister, you ass??? You ever think that maybe I don’t do anything because this war of red and blue is fucking pointless? It was literally made up! It’s a fake war, Simmons. Not to mention the fact that I don’t do shit Sarge says because he’s always trying to fucking kill me! And you’re one to talk about always only doing one thing, all you’re able to do is work! Excuse me for trying to convince you to let loose once in a while. And is it really that hard to believe I could be smart? I mean, I know we’ve got this whole hating each other thing going, but damn Simmons, find something better to insult than my intelligence.”

Grif immediately regretted the words when he saw Simmons’ face fall and his body posture slump at the words ‘hating each other’. Grif felt the heat of anger still radiating off his face and the coarseness of emotion making his throat itch and his mouth dry. Simmons looked helplessly at Grif, seeming to be searching for something in his face. Simmons pushed his chair back and stood up, the hurt written all over his features.

“I’m going to bed.”

No, no nononono. This wasn’t happening. Grifs eyes began to sting.

It was happening, and Grif just sat there watching Simmons go, leaving behind a half-finished report and a confused Grif.

This wasn’t their routine. Simmons was supposed to finish the report and then because it was Saturday they were supposed to take more beer up to the roof and laugh about stupid shit until they got too tired to laugh. Spending hours together and sharing secrets and then they’d stagger down to their room, both at least tipsy, probably saying things they’d regret when they woke up tomorrow. Things like the time Grif got his tongue stuck in a freezer at work back home, or the time Simmons challenged someone to a word duel in the third grade. But not like this. This was what happens when you don’t follow the fucking routine and avoid shit that actually matters.

So instead of Simmons finishing the report it was Grif, and Grif drank enough beer for the both of them, sitting on the roof of the base alone. But it still wasn’t enough beer for him not to notice the giant wet spot on Simmons’ pillow when he snuck into their room that night. Simmons didn’t even clean up Grif's mess from earlier that day. Well, if Simmons had decided to show Grif he could avoid work for once, then Grif would show Simmons he was smart, and also not a sack of shit. 

 

Sarge, Donut, and Lopez were too busy being weirded out by Simmons being lazy and apathetic and Grif sucking up to Sarge for them to actually question why it was happening, or notice the fact that the two were spending virtually no time together compared to normal standards, or that Grif had been sleeping on the couch in the rec room. No one questioned it either when Grif and Simmons slowly began returning to themselves after Sarge and Grif parted with Caboose. They just figured it was one of those weird Grif and Simmons things, and that they would sort it out eventually. They always did.

When Sarge and Grif found out Simmons was in trouble, Sarge could tell Grif was worried. He slept less, and was coming up with numerous plans. Sarge always knew Grif was smarter than he let on, which was part of why he was so hard on the kid, he wasn’t living up to his full potential.

But now that Grif and Simmons were together again during the fight with the Meta and Washington at Valhalla and directly after, he could see the little cracks they had chiseled in each other's facades. Grif let his smarts show through better now, thinking on his feet during battle and coming up with plans on the fly, and Simmons became a little more independent, not immediately kissing ass at the sight of his superior officer.

But they weren’t speaking to each other directly, and honestly Sarge kind-of missed their usual bickering. He wasn’t dumb, he knew something was wrong, but they needed time to sort this out. Naturally, when Grif offered to fill Simmons in on what was going on, Sarge took the hint and took a motorcycle fixed up by Lopez back to the desert, and let the boys take the Warthog. Nothing like a good old fashioned Red Team style road trip to get them back to normal with each other again. He was depending on it to work, because he didn’t know how much more of this new weird tension between them he could stand.

 

The first fifteen minutes of driving in the Warthog were silent. At first Grif had turned on the radio, but the damn thing only played that shitty polka music that only reminded Grif of hanging out with Simmons on patrols back in Blood Gulch. How the fuck was he supposed to fix this? Red Team had routines for just about everything. But not this. He and Simmons had never had a fight this bad before, not even in the early days. But when he glanced at Simmons, sitting in the passenger seat looking out of the car, he figured there was nothing for it at this point. Just fucking wing it and see what happens. It was too important not to try something.

“Look, Simmons-”

“Are you gonna fill me in on what’s going on now?”

“Simmons, we need to talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about, Grif?”

Simmons was looking at him now, body turned toward him, so he spared a glance back,

“Do we really need to talk about the fact that my best friend didn’t find it necessary to tell me something that is a major accomplishment in their life for eight fucking years of being friends? Or is it that those eight years have really meant nothing to you, and our entire friendship in your eyes can be boiled down to ‘that whole hating each other thing’? Because you know, if that’s all it means to you, then I’ll just move myself from the list of ‘things Grif doesn’t fucking care about’ to the list of ‘things Grif hates’ right there under Sarge. So don’t worry, I get it. Message received loud and clear. So save yourself the fucking trouble of saying it out loud, because you know, that might be too much work.”

“You know for a fucking fact that’s not what I meant by that.”

“Then what the fuck was it supposed to mean, Grif?!”

Grif winced at the harshness of Simmons’ tone, but realized his own probably hadn’t been much better just now either. He took a deep breath in and out before speaking again, softening his tone.

“I didn’t tell you about Harvard because I dropped out. It was too much money, and my sister needed me. I gave it up, and pretty soon after that I got drafted. If I had stayed, I wouldn’t be here, but either way, I wasn’t there for there one person that needed me on that godforsaken planet. I don’t like to talk about it, it’s embarrassing.”

“You know I wouldn’t judge you for that.”

“That’s not the point. It’s not about you judging me, it’s about me judging myself.” He hadn’t answered Simmons completely yet, but he was listening intently, understanding that Grif was just starting at the beginning.

“You already had enough ammo against me, I didn’t want to give you any more. And as time went on, it got harder and harder to try to bring it up. You already know enough bad things about me, Simmons. Despite what you think, I do care about you and how you see me, you’re my best friend, man. And I figured hell, if you already hated me, why should I tell you the things I hate about myself?”

Simmons was looking at Grif sympathetically now, still patiently waiting for him to finish. He didn’t seem to mind that Grif was doing most of the talking, Grif guessed he knew his turn would come when he was done. But it felt so good to get all of this off his chest he had to keep going.

“So when I let it slip and you reacted like that… it was like you couldn’t see the one thing that was good about me. Yeah, I put up a facade to fool people into underestimating me, and maybe laziness is at the heart of it, maybe not. But either way I had thought for sure that if anybody could see through it, it would be you. I wanted you to. To see me for who I am. But you were acting like it was so hard to believe and you didn’t know what was underneath. And I got so mad at you for that, because here I was, thinking we were best friends who knew each other better than Sarge knows his shotgun, and you didn’t know me at all. I was the one who cared about you the most, and you still spent all your time and energy into a fake war just to impress Sarge. It was like you didn’t care I was there.”

Simmons winced at that and paused, waiting for Grif to go on. When he didn’t, Simmons opened his mouth to speak, but it took a minute before any words came out.

“I only reacted the way I did because I was mad you didn’t tell me. You know all the important stuff about my past so I thought you didn’t care enough to talk to me about it, that I was just a matter of convenience for you if you were lonely. I didn’t react the way I did because I didn’t think you were capable of it- I’ve always known you were wicked smart- I reacted the way I did because I thought you didn’t care if I was there or not. Trust me, I know how smart you are, and honestly it’s a little scary. Even the blues think you’re smarter than you let on, they even said you’re the smartest one on our team!” 

Grif raised an eyebrow in amusement and sideglanced at Simmons, he never told him that before, when had that happened? He’d be sure to ask Simmons later.

“But when it comes to Sarge, you’ve gotta understand, he’s like a father to me. I mean, he’s like a dad to all of us, but for me… well you already know all about that.”

Simmons was grimacing at the thought of his father, and Grif didn’t blame him. The guy was a total fucking nightmare. Simmons pushed past the topic, and Grif didn’t blame him for that either.

“But I don’t do all the work I do just for Sarge. Yeah, it would be nice to get some more recognition, but it’s not about him it’s about ambition. I wanna be somebody, Grif. But no matter how much work I do, who do I go to at the end of the day? Not Sarge. I choose to spend my time with you. I mean, damn man, when we got relocation orders, I could have stayed with Sarge but I went with you instead.”

Grif’s left wrist was draped over the steering wheel now, and when he glanced at Simmons to gauge if he was done talking or not, he saw a determined look on his features. Simmons looked him straight in the eye,

“He may be our C.O. and father figure, but you’re my best friend in the whole world, Dex. Nobody else.”

Grif knew he looked surprised when Simmons used his first name because Simmons looked increasingly worried. Grif knew he was waiting for affirmation from him. He drank in the moment. Simmons’ hair blowing in the wind, sunlight illuminating his bright eyes and pale skin. He was biting his lip. Grif put his right hand on Simmons’ shoulder in a surprisingly sincere gesture for him and told him,

“And you’re mine, Dick.”

Simmons’ face automatically relaxed and he genuinely smiled. Grif took a mental picture, committing another moment with Simmons to memory so that the image would be burned into his brain.

“Even if sometimes you are a dick.”

Grif smiled at him warmly, and for once Simmons didn’t frown or roll his eyes at the insult. He kept smiling. This wasn’t routine, but maybe they could make it a new one.

“You just had to go for it, didn’t you?”

“Would I be the Dexter Grif you know and love if I didn’t?”

Grif had expected sputtering and nervousness, not the calm quiet, “No, I guess not.” that came from Simmons whose cheeks were tinged pink. Grif was sure his cheeks were tinged too because they felt hot, and he was startled just a little at Simmons reply, but really, who was he kidding?

“Yeah I guess you’re right huh?” There was a pause,

“Would I be the Dick Simmons you know and love if I wasn’t always right?”

“I don’t know about always… but no probably not. I guess I could keep letting you think you’re always right, though. For now anyway.”

The words and tones were nonchalant, but they were both blushing furiously, and that was it. That was just how they did things at Red Base, indirectness was routine. It wasn’t a real confession, and could easily be masked as sarcasm or just figure of speech. But Grif looked at Simmons and he knew, that was about as close as they’d get anytime soon. And that was okay. The words were already said, sentiment buried between the lines. They just knew each other well enough to see it.


End file.
